


but there is music in us

by alismithpdf



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, basically an orpheus and eurydice au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-18 00:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18975274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alismithpdf/pseuds/alismithpdf
Summary: after eliott is taken from him, lucas goes to hades to bring him back





	but there is music in us

he dies in the early morning, eyes open and blank, skin unearthly cold.

lucas - lucas doesn't bury him. tries, but can't, and yann steps in instead. by that night it's over. he takes one step inside their - his - house and immediately walks back out. it feels haunted, foreign, and frigid without eliott's warmth. he stays with yann. a night, just one night, and then he'll sort everything out at his place, try and figure out what to do with eliott's things.

a night turns into a week, into two.

he goes back to work, his students not inquiring into his disappearance. or maybe someone told them. it doesn't matter. 

a month, and yann tells him that his house is sorted. that he can go back whenever he'd like. lucas nods, doesn't ask for further details. doesn't ask what exactly that means for eliott things. he doesn't go back immediately, but one day yann comes back with a poppy flower from his garden, which manon has apparently been taking care of while he's been gone. lucas hold it, stares at it for a long time, thanks manon when he sees her the next day.

three months, and he's back in their - his - house. it's warmer now, persephone has been back for a while. it means he doesn't need to sleep in their bed, makes due with dragging everything he needs onto the floor near a window.

everything of his has been moved, not gone, yann had been very firm on that fact, but moved into one of the rooms they never used. there are blank places along the walls where drawings used to be.

lucas' lyre, though, is still in place, even though it is technically eliott's, something his mother gave him that he quickly passed onto lucas after lucas played for him. that first night they were alone, house empty but for them and their laughter, wine bottles scattered around the room, eliott's hands stained with charcoal, and of course he couldn't be the only one showing off, so lucas picked up the lyre and -

he closes his eyes, clenches his jaw. firewood. he needs more firewood.

six months, and arthur tells him something, an old story he's found in some forgotten book in his library. it's  _ cruel _ and lucas throws his fist before conscious thought. arthur's skin breaks, just on top of his cheekbone. lucas' bones creak, knuckles bruise. 

_ have you tried to get him back? you could ask. there are stories, sometimes hades does favours for family. _

six months and two week, and lucas thought he was beyond hope, but arthur's voice scratches at his mind, over and over. he plays to drown it own. the lyre - eliott's lyre - unused since his death but lucas' hands haven't forgotten, apollo's blood strong in his veins, and he plays for hours, plays through the night. the music, sweet and sad and raw, etches into his bones, an irremovable mark, his body forever changed. his heart has turned into an exposed nerve, painful, open, so very delicate. 

seven months, and the dreams have changed. it's enticing, what his mind shows him. just go down, see hades, beg, offer, sacrifice, anything to bring him back, walk out hand in hand with the man of his life. 

***

the journey feels long, but it's painless. he gets to bypass the torture, the confusion, the river crossing, that mortals must endure. arthur told him he should bring the lyre, and it's a little awkward to carry, but it's - fine. he's been through worse.

persephone is back, holding a large knife and carving into wood when lucas finds her. he hadn't registered the weather changes. 

"oh! you're one of apollo's kids, right?" she waves the knife around, but it's, probably, not a threat, just hand gestures. 

lucas nods. "is hades around? i need to ask him something," he says, and his voice doesn't shake. his hands are, but no one can see them.

"what have you done?" asks a deep voice behind him, and before he's had time to turn around hades is in front of him, walking directly to his throne in the middle of the room. a three headed dog trails behind him, settles onto the armrest. 

"nothing. i want to ask a favour."

"oh?"

"i lost someone. my husband, my - my love," he chokes out the last word, and persephone, still sitting in her rocking chair, makes a sad sound.

"and you want to, what, replace him?" hades asks, gently scratching behind his dog's ears. 

"obviously not," persephone says, flipping the knife between her fingers. "he wants to bring him back, take him home. right, lucas?"

"right."

hades sighs, long suffering. "well, that's a lot harder. i know you're my nephew, but -"

"lucas, that lyre you're carrying, can you play it?" she cuts in. lucas blinks rapidly, but she's smiling, a genuine question.

"i can."

"play for us. the entertainment down here is...lacking."

hades doesn't say anything, just sends an affectionate look to his wife. so lucas plays. plays everything he remembers, everything he's ever heard anyone else play, and composes his own when those run out. he can feel his pulse beat throughout his body, his body aligned in such a way that he can hear, can feel, his heart throb, can feel it racing the longer he plays. 

"you have played well," hades says at last, hold up a hand to signal lucas should stop. his hands - his hands are bleeding in places. he's sweating, breathless, shaking all over but feels completely numb.

"so does that mean...?" 

hades groans, but nods. "you can have him back. you've convinced me. but it comes with one condition."

"of course - anything. anything you want." 

hades chuckles with an edge of defeat. "you can have him back, but you cannot look at him. not until you are back on mortal land. you will just have to trust that he is there, behind you."

"but he  _ will  _ be there?" he feels lightheaded, only half aware of what he's saying.

_ eliott eliott eliott _

"you have my word." 

lucas exhales, nods, heartbeat tripping in his chest. "okay. i agree." he says. nothing happens, everyone in the room casual. lucas nervously looks around.

"so, uh, what do i -?" 

"you walk, lucas. turn around, and walk back the way you came. no one will give you hassle. just remember, if you look back, he dies. and he dies for good."

"and lucas?" he turns to persephone. "i've watched a lot of people fail at this, so some advice? don't look back, even when you get back to mortal land. eyes forward, just keep walking. wait for him to touch you, to reach out to you. he will."

wait. resist. control. 

a test. 

"so if i leave now, you'll get him, and he'll follow me back."

"he's already here, lucas," hades says, and lucas flinches, quickly stops himself from turning around.

a test.

"okay."

"go, lucas. turn around, make the journey back, and wait." he can feel something behind him, the slightest imprint of breath moving his hair.

lucas grabs his lyre. "thank you."

hades waves that away. "leave, nephew."

so he leaves. the lyre is heavy in his hands, heavier than it's ever been. but the air - lucas has never been so conscious of the space around him, his senses never so sharp and searching. he's there. eliott is there. he has to  be. he has to be because this will actually kill him. this last ditch effort, the renewed heartbreak. if lucas gets back home, and he's still gone, his crinkly eyes and melodic voice, his warmth and joy, his infinite love for everything found in nature and beyond, the pain will carve him hollow, will send him beyond language, beyond text, until only the void above or below would understand him.

he plays a few notes, off and on, despite his bleeding hands. he might - if he doesn't distract himself, he might do something foolish, something unforgivable. so he plays, and when he isn't playing, he drags his fingers across every groove and bump of the instrument, commits it to memory.

he crosses the boundary into mortal lands, the noon high sun sublime, painful in its beauty, in what it means. his hands shake, the movements rattling his whole body, slows his walk. maybe - if he could - he's technically in mortal lands - it might be - 

but persephone's words ring loud, and he picks up his pace. it's no longer silent, the world chirping with life, but it just means there's too many layers to dig through for his hearing to pick up any trace of eliott's bouncing walk.

he walks. 

he walks and his legs ache, muscles sore. but he keeps his neck straight, his eyes forward. he's - they're - getting closer now. soon they'll be back. soon.

he walks and their garden comes into view, shabby without eliott's understanding of nature, but mostly alive. and lucas - lucas stops. breaths. falls to the ground on his knees, hands on the ground before him, neck bent down. there's tears everywhere, running over his mouth, down his chin, continuing down his neck or falling onto the ground. he's probably been crying for hours, for days, a year. there was never a time before this. weeping on his knees is all he's ever been. 

his chest is in knots, aching and thick. 

"thank you," someone says. and it's him, his voice, soothing and melodic. lucas lets out a shaky breath, opens his eyes. and there's, there's another shadow, standing next to his own. a hand, very slowly, very gently, stretches out and runs through his hair.

"are you real?" he asks.

"of course," eliott says, murmurs, and tugs very lightly on lucas' hair. 

his ribs crack open, letting, for the first time in months, sunlight, hope, joy into his body. reminding his heart that sometimes, miraculously, there's reasons to keep beating.

when he stands his head goes light. when he turns around, he doesn't believe his eyes. eliott,  _ eliott _ , stands tall, twisting his hands in front of him, and crying, quietly, like lucas had been. 

"lucas," he says, and it sounds like he's gasping for air, like he's been submerged in water, almost drowning, until lucas dragged him from the depths, flew him to salvation.

"eliott." and oh gods, it’s been so long since he's said that name. he holds out his hands, fingers slightly apart. eliott's expression lightens, softens and he slips his fingers into the gaps of lucas', presses the palms of their hands together. one of them, maybe both, are trembling slightly, thinly, and lucas clasps their hands together tighter, pulls eliott in closer. 

"you're really here, right? this isn't a trick?" 

"i'm here. i'm not - i'm not going anywhere, i promise." he gently detaches their hands and lucas thinks the lack of skin contact might kill him, but eliott just cups his face, brings them closer. 

"you've been gone a while. seven months." 

eliott silently repeats that, face complicated, and lucas buries his face in his neck, breaths deep, slips his hands around eliott's waist, under his shirt, and holds on tight. he's warm, and smells the same, like dried orange peel, and probably won't mind that lucas is crying again, making a mess of the collar of his shirt. there are hands around his shoulders, his neck, cupping the back of his head. safe, treasured, protected. 

"i'm sorry i'm sorry i love you i love you i love you i'm so fucking sorry i love you i'm okay i love you," eliott whispers right by his ear over and over again, his voice cracking, breaking, failing in places, his hands restless as they move across lucas, trying to touch as much of him as possible. 

eventually, an hour, a year, en eternity later, he pulls back. eliott makes an annoyed sound, but lucas doesn't go far, doesn't leave the circle of his arms, just wants to see his eyes, his certain, beautiful, blue grey eyes. eliott might want the same thing, because he doesn't complain or readjust them, just gently, so very gently, rests their foreheads together, uses a thumb to brush away the tears still clinging to lucas' cheeks. 

there a million, billion, infinite number of things he could say, wants to say, things that have been sitting dark in the spaces between his ribs for months, but lucas kisses him instead. their lips a little salty, but soft, so soft. eliott makes a broken sound and brings them impossibly closer, warmth spreading through his body. the kiss deepens, their tongues meet and a wildfire starts, the oceans part, the world settles back into orbit. 

_ home home home. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> title from horses at midnight without a moon by jack gilbert
> 
> thanks for reading!
> 
> i'm on tumblr [ here ](https://without-tenderness.tumblr.com)


End file.
